Pink Spots and Red Streaks

The husband was en route to an 8-day vacation in Canada when I got the news: Dewey Kitty was to take antibiotics twice a day for the next 10 days.

I would have to find some way to get 1.5 ml of pink, sticky liquid down his throat.

He was unsuspecting the first time, when I wrapped him in a towel and squirted it down his throat.

The second time he was ready. I've seen the way you wrap Christmas presents and you have no tape, he said, extracting a claws-extended back paw that gave me a few scratches before I got the medicine down.

The third time, I thought about tape, but tried the double towel wrap. I'm smarter than that, he said, extricating a front paw, giving me a left hook and a head shake. Who knew 1.5 ml could fly so far? The towel, counter and walls were dotted in pink.

The solution came when I spotted Dewey Kitty curled up in a box.

I filled the syringe, petted him, listened to him purr. Then, with his feet tucked in the box, I opened his mouth and squirted the antibiotics in. No problem.

That evening, I pointed to his box, and he hopped in. I petted him for a bit, and administered the medication. No problem.

Sometimes it pays to think inside the box.

Lamb TV

To create an attention-grabbing scene, start with lambs, green grass and sunshine.

When working outside this weekend, I let the two ewes and four lambs into the yard to graze.

All work stopped as I watched the one-week-old lambs zoom around the pasture and leap into the air.

But, I'm not the only one who whiles away the hours watching Lamb TV.

When I stepped into the barn this morning, I discovered the barn cats, too, indulge in this pleasure.

Trick the Cat opts for a balcony seat and observes the goings-on from his straw bale.

Leslie the Cat chooses a front row seat in the lamb pen where the lambs give her a good sniff before showing off their dance moves.

When the dog and the cat go to the vet...

If I let him, Jack would spend hours staring at cats. It's a habit I try to discourage--unless we're going to the vet.

Vet offices provide loads of distractions for busy Border collies. Rather than letting other dogs, people, smells and treats distract him, I let Jack, the Border collie, stare at Dewey Kitty who was sitting rather unhappily in his cat carrier.

Dewey Kitty  is no fan of vet visits nor car rides. After receiving his vaccinations and examination, he sulked in the cat carrier that was perched on the bench.

Jack, who was visiting the vet for his periodic adjustment and massage, paid no attention ran her hands over him and manipulated his joints. His eyes were on the cat.

When the vet showed Jack the spinal accelerometer, a little hand-held device that looks like a power drill and makes popping noises, Jack didn't react. His eyes were on the cat.

But when the hand-held device popped behind his ear, Jack, all 48 pounds of him, dropped to the floor.

We got him back on his feet and showed him the device. He stared at the kitty.

The device popped, and Jack dropped again.

"It's the cat," I said. "He thinks he's in trouble for staring at the cat."

"I hope I haven't given him a fear of cats," the vet said, as she worked on him on the floor, out of view of the cat.

When finished, Jack stood--and returned to staring at the cat.

Strange Bedfellows

When the temperatures drop, I expect to see Tag and Caeli snoozing together on the couch. They've both hit the double digits in age and have been together nearly nine years. On the farm, we call them the "old married couple."

For years, Dewey and Louie, the office cats, have snoozed together.

But Roxie, the barn cat, did not have a snuggle buddy. Trick, the Senior Barn Cat, does not snuggle. He's perfectly content to curl up on top of the hay bales and survey his kingdom.

So, when the temperatures dipped below freezing, Roxie found a warm buddy.

I think she's embarrassed by her new friend, as it's taken me weeks to get a photo of the two.

The Cat Days of Summer

During the Cat Days of Summer, when the temperatures climb to 90 and the insect popular explodes, the sheep, horses and chickens while away most of the day in the barn, and the cats overtake the back porch.

Trick snoozing on the back porch.

The concrete is cooler than their usual napping places in the barns.

Leslie the Cat on the back porch.

House flies, gnats and even the lumbering, buzzing horse flies seem to leave the cats alone on the back porch.

Roxie perched on the stoop.

If snoozing on the back porch, they have to exert little energy to find their next meal--cat food served on the porch.

But their is one cat who chooses a different place for his siesta. Dewey Kitty comes inside and stretches out where I, too, would like to while away the hot summer afternoons.

Dewey Kitty snoozing under the ceiling fan in my office.

How to Stop a Flock

With rain in the forecast, I did what I'd done dozens of times.

I sent Raven, the Border collie, out into the pasture to round up the small flock of dry ewes (those without lambs at their side) and bring them through a six-foot gate, through the yard and into the paddock with an overhang.

As I opened the gate, the calico barn cat rubbed against my legs and rolled in front of the gate.

I snatched her up and put her on my shoulder where I could pet her and keep her safe from the sheep who were trotting toward the gate.

That cat brought the flock to a stop. The lead ewe eyed the cat that spent its days rubbing against the sheep and llama in the barnyard.

What was it doing on my shoulder? Was this some kind of trick? Would that cat attack the flock?

The lead ewe would happily walk by me; she would walk by the cat; but she would not walk by me with a cat on my shoulder. And, until the lead ewe walked forward, none of the other ewes would either.

Cat on shoulder, I took a few steps away from the sheep and flanked the dog back and forth, until finally the ewe was convinced it was safe to move forward.

Lamb TV

Lambs are born curious, ready to explore the world.

A 10-month-old cat, experiencing lambing season for the first time, is equally as curious.

When the cat, Little One, jumps into the lamb pen, the ewe eyes her, but doesn't move from her spot. She quietly watches as her 2-day-old ewe lamb walks up to the cat and buries her nose in Little One's coat. The lamb sniffs and nuzzles, then finally lifts her head.

The lamb's twin brother approaches the cat next and gives her a good sniff.

Both lambs watch as the cat drinks from the water bucket.

Then Mama Ewe decides the cat lesson is over for the day, She walks up to the cat and nudges her. When the cat doesn't move, the ewe gives her a head butt, steps back and watches the cat jump from the lamb pen.

The Office Cat

When I work from home, this is often my view.

Dewey likes to perch on the scanner and watch me.

Those are during the good moments.

During the bad moments, he walks on the keyboard or presses the print button.

If I ignore him, he'll grab my hand--and sometimes forget to retract his claws.

He'll shred paper.

He'll yowl.

Eventually I'll give in and feed him, or toss him outside.

And he'll give in and snuggle on my lap or a blanket.

And I'll love my office cat once again.

The Bad Boy Returns

For a day, Dewey Kitty lounged in his chair and slept.

He didn't eat; he didn't follow me around the house; he didn't shred tissue paper.

So off to the vet he went.

"There's something seriously wrong with my cat," I told the vet. "He's being a good kitty."

One look at his mouth revealed inflamed gums and throat.

"Once this clears up, a dental is in his future," she said, giving him a few injections and sending him on his way.

A day later, he awoke me at 5 in the morning.

He demanded to sit on my lap and pay attention to him.

When I ignored him, he walked on my keyboard and sat in front of the monitor.

He perched atop the scanner and stared, stared, stared at me.

When noontime approached, he reminded me of his 3 p.m. feeding. And, when I eventually gave into his demands, he ate all of his food.

I was so happy to have my bad kitty back.

No Slumber Parties for Him

When I returned from the early morning dog walk, Trick the Cat was not perched on the picnic table and awaiting his morning meal.

Now 8 years old, the muscular tabby is a man of routine. He comes to the house for breakfast, takes a nap in the barn, then hunts the fields and barns for mice, birds and rabbits.

I didn't think much of his absence until a few hours later when I went outside to do the morning chores.

His cat food was untouched and he was not in the barn. I hoped he'd gotten locked in a building--and made a note to look for him.

But I didn't need to do that. As I approached the chicken house, I heard his insistent cry. He marched out when I opened the door.

Instead of "thank you," he said, "what took you so long?"

On his evening patrol, he must have gone hunting in the chicken house.

Because chicken food attracts sparrows and mice, Trick

routinely patrols the chicken yard and house.

 When closing the chicken door at dark, I didn't see him so he spent the night with the hens, a few roosters and probably a few unlucky mice.

Did he curl up in a nesting box, snug and secure? Did he stay up talking to the murmuring hens? Did he bat at the roosters' tail feathers?

He is not saying.

But when I took the dogs on their early walk this morning, he was perched at the picnic table, awaiting his morning meal.

As if Chores Weren't Hard Enough...

After spending three weekends at sheepdog trials and clinics, I turned my attention to the farm.

The chore list was long: groom the dogs,

 (So glad only two of the Border collies are rough coats)

sort out the ram lambs,

clean up the horse paddock (actually a joy now that it's finally drying out),

mow (it may have stopped raining, but the grass is still looking lush)

weed and mulch the garden...

and watch the kitten.

Between four Border collies and trap/neuter efforts, we've kept stray cats to a minimum on the farm. But this one appeared while I was at a sheepdog clinic. And so far, I've found no one who wants an adorable kitten--so, for now she's staying.

She thanks me constantly by being underfoot. So, I've resorted to holding her while I'm moving ram lambs, feeding the chickens, dragging around the muck bucket.

She purrs, delighted with the arrangement.

Dear Cat

While I'm quite happy that you're catching mice and the occasional sparrow, could you please refrain from leaving them on the back porch?

We have a pup now, and unlike the adult dogs, she can not swoop up and swallow those finger-sized mice before I notice.

The pup picks up her prize and wants to bring it indoors.

So I am left on the back porch playing the trading game with a pup. And, let me tell you, she wants more than a few dry treats for a bloody, squishy mouse. Or, I must do the finger sweep to extract the mouse.

And, I am more squeamish than you.

Your cooperation would be appreciated (and surprising),

The Home Owner

Photo of 13-week-old Niki chewing on a corn cob. Photo by Patti Sumner.

While the Cat is Choking...

When I return to the kitchen after giving Mickey her medication, I find two dog joint tablets instead of three.

Louie the Cat is gagging, pawing at his mouth.

And I think:

Really, you'd eat the eat the beef-flavored joint tablet?

But you're the finicky one, the one who doesn't steal food, doesn't beg.

You're the perfect one, the one the spouse likes.

Meanwhile, Louie continues to gag and paw at his mouth.

How do you give a cat the Heimlich maneuver?

I pick him up and grab his jaw. Moments before I put my finger in his mouth, the pill pops out.

He shakes his head, irritated at me.

"You're welcome," I say as he saunters away.

Tag, the Border collie, wags his tail, anxiously awaiting his soggy joint tablet.

Leslie: The Mudroom Cat

At the coldest point during the last polar vortex, Leslie the Barncat asked to come inside.

So, I set up a bed, food and water, and a litter pan in the mudroom. After 18 hours, she was warm and restless and ready to return to the barn.

A few nights ago, when temperatures dipped into the single digits, she began appearing at the back door, asking to come inside. I let her stay overnight in the mudroom. In the morning, she was on her way.

This morning, she put her paws down and absolutely refused to go outside.

(Leslie also is not keen about having her mugshot taken. She refused to stand still for it).

"Here's the problem with you staying in the mudroom," I tell her. "I have to move the dogs' water pan into another room."

She snuggled deeper into her blanket.

"Okay, here's the real problem," I tell her. "Heat."

With the door closed, the room only receives a blast of heat when the furnace kicks on -- an infrequent occurrence when we have a fire in the wood stove. No heat means that pipes freeze.

This didn't concern Ms. Leslie.

So, we've come up with a compromise, though she doesn't think so.

For the next cold spell, she's moving to the cellar. Leslie the Cellar Cat has a nice ring to it.

At Some Point Below Zero

I love winter -- the snow and cold. But I don't like when temperatures reach a certain point below zero degrees.

I don't know what that number is. I don't keep an outdoor thermometer handy. But it is the point that the barn water pump stops working because its gears freeze. At that point, the horse waterer freezes, and I am carrying buckets of water from the house to the barn.

Horses and sheep don't seem to drink much water in the winter, until it reaches that point below zero and I'm carrying buckets of water from the house to the barn.

(I'm trying to make an ice wall. My building skills aren't great, but I'll keep trying.)

At that point below zero, Leslie, the Barn Cat, insists on coming indoors -- and Dewey, the indoor kitty, doesn't even ask to go outside.

(Dewey Kitty is resigned to spending his days by the fire.)

At that point below zero, Tag and Mickey, two of the Border collies, hold their paws up because it's painful.

I, too, don't work as well in that weather. I breathe through a face mask, hoping to warm the air some before it hits my lungs. My gloves don't seem to keep my hands warm, and the farm house never feels warm.

It's been a few winters since we've hit that point below zero. But in the past few weeks, we've hit it twice, and we're getting another arctic blast in a few days.

I haven't tired of winter yet, but maybe we haven't hit that point below zero.

The January Hay Count

Some days, I see my sheep as the hungry caterpillars.

This weekend, I inventoried the hay supply. With more than three months to go until the sheep and horses can graze pastures, I want to make sure that I have enough hay to get through the winter.

I don't.

The amount of hay that I use each winter depends on several things: the number of sheep, the conditions of winter pastures, the quality of hay, and the coldness of winter.

Our sheep numbers were up, so the pasture condition was down; the hay wasn't as good; and it was -- and continues to be cold.

So, while we might have enough hay to make it through until spring, I decided to play it safe and ordered more hay.

I'm sure the sheep will munch through it.

(Trick the Cat has nothing to do with this story. He was just posing on the hay bales.)

Winter Barn Games

When the temperatures dip, the animals' world gets smaller.

The sheep and horses spend more time at the barn eating hay rather than grazing. Without their smorgasbord of bugs and weeds, the chickens retreat to the hen house. I, too, spend more time in the house rather than around the barn and yard.

That leads to one bored barn cat. Luckily, he has the lambs.

The lambs, now nine months old, like to stick their nose between the slats when I'm in the barn.

For Trick the Cat, this means a game of Cat and Lamb Nose. Standing at the base of the wall, he crouches and waits for a lamb nose. When one pokes through the slats, he jumps up and grabs it with his front paws. Sometimes, he'll gnaw on it for good measure. After a few seconds the lamb retreats.

A minute later, the lamb sticks her nose through the slats again, and again is pounced by the cat. The lambs and cat play this game for several minutes before Trick goes hunting for another game.

Searching for the Christmas Miracle

We arrived home at midnight Christmas Eve. After slipping into my barn coat and boots, I rushed to the barn. Would our sheep, horses, llama and cat be kneeling in the barn like the animals of the Thomas Hardy poem?

Instead of kneeling, I found the sheep and horses standing and restless as the coyotes' yips rolled from the riverbanks up to the barn. The yipping continued, even as I yelled, "Enough."

On this Christmas Eve, there would be no kneeling in my barn.

And yet, I wasn't disappointed. Miracles don't just happen on Christmas Eve. If we look, we can see them everyday -- in the birth of a lamb, in the flight of a bird, in the silent communication between a ewe and me.

On this Christmas Eve, I was looking for the animals kneeling into the night. But as I listened to the haunting yips and calls of the coyotes, I realized that hearing them doesn't happen everyday. Even rarer was the long chorus they performed that night.

For a few seconds, as the animals stirred, I just listened to the calls and was thankful to live where I can listen to cud-chewing and whinnies and yips on Christmas Eve.

A Pie Pumpkin from Kentucky

Mickey, the Border collie, won a pie pumpkin at the sheepdog trial in Kentucky last weekend.

It looked pretty sitting in the basket, but the grower promised the pumpkins were quite tasty. I don't know what I'll make, but I've promised Mickey a taste.

Today, I cut the pumpkin in half and separated the seeds and the pulp. While roasting the seeds, I went to the hen house and offered the pulp to the chickens.

They were delighted to have something so colorful and fresh and tasty in November.

Then, I returned to the house and discovered that Dewey Kitty didn't care much for the pumpkin. But that basket.....

Where's Trick?

When I pull the wheelbarrow out from under the tarp and find him sleeping there, I wish Trick the Cat was black or white or yellow -- any color other than the browns, tans and blacks of a raccoon or groundhog.

After all these years, you'd think I'd become accustomed to the barn cat showing up almost anywhere. But he still startles me when I find him curled among the feed bags I'm about to move or among the tomato plants I'm about to pick.

By now, I should always assume he'll be in the middle of farm life, wherever that may be.

He often spends the night on the hay and straw bales.

Not only are they soft, warm and dry, but they provide a prime view of the horses and sheep in the barn.

In the dawn's light, he surveys his kingdom.

Telling the chickens and sheep to look at him. And they do because they've been ambushed by him on numerous occasions.

He likes to groom himself atop the fence -- and usually plays a game of chase-my-tail where he wraps himself around the top board.

If I'm working the dogs on sheep, he waits in the tall grass and pounces the Border collie (something I have yet to get on film).

Lunging the horses? No problem, he'll roll near their path. They'll move for him.

Then, he's on to torment the chickens.

A few cockerels notice the intruder, but when Trick doesn't react to them, they go back to eating tomatoes -- which don't challenge them.

 I never know if he likes to torment the chickens or if he is hoping a sparrow will land nearby.

When the sun heats the day, he retreats to the garden where he sleeps among the parsnips....

awaiting a human to torment and rub against.